Is it so wrong to be submissive?

My knees are bloody. I am far from a chaste being. No one knows what it is like to be a girl. A girl who is a libertine. A girl who refuses to live within the lines of social stigma. Society says a girl should be virtuous, have combed hair and never let any four letter words slip from her pretty cherry blossom mouth. LOVE is a four lettered word that is allowed to be spoken. A girl should be obsessed with love, loving and giving love to only one man. Fuck that. I am the kind of girl who refuses to comb her hair, likes to make men beg, loves the idea of lust and debauchery. LOVE is a curse, a disease that is meant to eat away at your being leaving nothing left but rotting bones. The theory of giving your heart to another person is a farce. I would rather spread my limber legs to a stranger than give my heart to a man that has no intention of giving reciprocal sentiment. DON'T is an expert four lettered word. I DON'T sit around, biting nails to cuticle wating for a call. I DON'T glutton my sorrows away with ice cream and delights. I DON'T wait for the day I see his face again. I WILL ignore your advances for redemption. I WILL laugh when you squirm under my flat gaze. I WILL make damn sure your suffering is grand. I WILL FUCK your enemy, just to FUCK YOUR SELF esteem up. I WILL FUCK you one more time in YOUR bed, leaving my scent on YOUR sheets and my lipstick on YOUR DICK. I WILL MAKE SURE you FEEL PAIN. I WON'T be stopped. I am a CUNT, a HERO, a LIAR. A wrecking BALL, set out to destroy YOUR stability. FUCK you, FUCK society. I am who I am. If that makes me LESS of a GIRL, then I am tickled PINK to be just that. I WILL be MORE than thrilled to SUCK, FUCK, KILL, and BLOW you the FUCK AWAY. Use my TITS, LIPS,HIPS and EYES to BURN you the FUCK DOWN. I am REAL. I am FAKE. YOU WILL WISH to be LIKE me. JUST LIKE THIS GIRL.

She loves you no less.

When I met you I thought you were quite grand. A vision to my hazy eyes. I saw clear for once. You had a haughtiness in your step and a shake in your hip, your shimmy could drive any prudent lady, stark raving mad. Your eloquence and thoughtfulness bewildered me. I never knew a man could speak of worldly things with such passion and substance. It was the little things that added up in the complex equation that I called my love for you. Solstice never seemed so bon bon, laying next to you. I got lost. I vowed never to become "that girl". The girl who let the glare of fallacious circumstance drop her to her knees. You took a part of me. Maybe that was your angle all along. You had that classic way about you. The gentleman. Your slang like that of some old time crooner. Darling, babycakes, kiddo. You made me feel like Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. You were my Humphrey Bogart. Our first kiss was immaculate. I felt a million different things all at once. My consciousness was of another world. When the kissing led to touching, the touch was rapturous. Death by embellished hands. When the touching became lascivious, it was ecstasy. Death by amorous delight. They all warned me about you. They said you were nefarious. They told me about the drugs, the vices, the older ladies and the lies you always told. They told me I was nothing more than a trophy to you. Another conquest on your map of destruction. I never believed them. I came crawling back. Begging, pleading, promising to be better this time around. My mascara stained cheeks gave you such delight. You felt like a winner of the world's greatest prize. You made nice, we got on again just fine. We ran the streets of manhattan holding hands, laughing in the face of the naysayers. We fucked In the Angelika, while a silent art film about Paris played on. We got high on posh residential SoHo stoops. We did it all. We pretended to be yuppies and sundays we would go "apartment hunting" on the Upper West Side. You Promised me you would buy me the penthouse, and we would make a lavish room for Muffy when she was born. The realtor was flabbergasted by our behavior. We laughed until exhaustion, our faces hurting from such trickery. Bonnie & Clyde, Sid & Nancy, You & I. Weeks went by without any word from you, still I never lost hope. I waited so impassively. I counted the days, hours, minutes, seconds, nanoseconds until you would return. Eventually you did. Things went sour. You became indifferent, told me you were in love with someone else. I became obsessed, hatching plans to keep you by my side. You tried to make it work. We had a few more momentous escapades. You looked me in the eye and said "Darling, I truly do love you. Let's run away and get hitched. And buy a summer home in The Hamptons. This filled me up with an unexplainable mirth. I never saw you again after that night. You disappeared into the valley of lost love and disappointment. I started a new nightly ritual of vicodin and merlot, while you were already jiving some new broad. I never came out of all this quite the same. I lost a lot and learned a lot more. There are times where I will think back to the way the sun beat down on your colorful skin, and once again I will be filled up again with that mirth. Then I realize you really never were mine, but I am overjoyed to know that at one time I had a piece of you. I smile because that is all I am left to do. If I had a message to send you, I would send it on a postcard. One with the Eiffel Tower in all it's glory and on the back it would simply say "She loves you no less."

Atrocity Exhibition

Mirrors unhinge me. I cannot bare to look at my paltry face and body no longer. Guilt and self loathing are a cocktail designed for calamity. I ask myself "How did I become this?" What exactly is "this" I have evolved into? abnormal, distraught, overwrought, compulsive, hysteric and neurotic. I am too scared to live, too scared to die. I spend a lot of time reminiscing about childhood jubilance. The days when summer was like a blanket of security. Brightening days and prompting smiles as if they were automatic. Bubbles blown into the humid air, sidewalk chalk staining scabs on knees. Juvenility is so deceitful. Why didn't anyone ever warn us about the disheartnement? Educate us that bubbles pop and sidewalk chalk washes away when torrential downpours set in? That self-mutilation exists? Rapists too? That life is not a bowl of cherries? That life is actually a plate of maggot infested meat? Cynicism becomes the word of the youth. Show me one truly happy person and ill show them wretchedness. All they would need to do is look at the inside and outside of my wasteful being. They would catch a glimpse of what it really is like to hate. Maybe one day i will carve MISANTHROPY in to my arm. A preface of who i am. And a warning not to even bother with me. Smile now optimists. Show your snickers, snorts and shit-eating grins. One day reality will set in and you too will become crestfallen. You too will soon partake in the atrocity exhibition called life.

I imagined that I could make it all lucid...

Wide eyed. Impossible to not explore this beatitude. Like a release of glitter at a parade. My heart skips and jumps to the beat of school children playing hopscotch. The world has turned a dull color, yet you and I are in technicolor. Leaving traces of our love in vibrant hues of magenta, fuchsia and crimson. This feeling can only be described as a lysergic acid doused sugarcube hitting my readied tongue. Feeling overwhelmed and dulled all at once. Candy colored kisses and diamond eyed provocations. Skin crawling just to be closer to yours. Ominous voices telling me "You Dear, are quite alive again". It is all bittersweet. I indulge in this escape. If this is what love is, then i proudly accept this invitation of intoxication.

Les secrets dans la chambre à coucher...

Let's pretend baby. Let us masquerade this liaison behind white washed walls. Stealthy we must keep this. He cannot find out. Call upon me, make me your toy. I want to be used. I am a glutton for the way your body moves. The way your lips look so sullen. I get high with every touch you make down my back. Euphoric disposition. I am inclined to be submissive. Schoolgirl shy. I accept your advances, sir. You are king and I am not. I want you all over me. Resistance is now a forgotten word. Such a rapturous delight, sweeter than cointreau banana melts. Melt into me. Bend me, take me, break me because in your hands I am as fragile as glass. I feel no guilt for the other when you consume me. You, my dear are the secret that I plan on keeping for my own selfish indulgence. I cannot give you up...I will not.

You know I'm not dead I'm just the tears inside your head.

This desolation pains me. My heart feels an absence that is merely indescribable. There is no panacea to alleviate the pain or loss. Even though you are here, you are not. You are like a phantom with motives not entirely known. I wonder what I have done. Is it because I am troubled? That I cannot help. I was broken long before you existed in my realm. You are too far gone. I cannot rope you back in. I am another victim of cataclysmic love. Even though I lay next to you....Our love is long distance.

Hysteria is impossible without an audience.

Become invisible my mind tells me. You are no longer opulent, no longer inviting. The assemblage looks on, although I feel as if they are looking through me, sometimes staring into me. I feel like a mirror sometimes, a reflection of the ugliness one might feel on the inside of themselves. I adorn myself in luxury to hide the fact that my insides are as ragged as a hand me down from the five and dime. I speak in riddles so you can draw your own conclusions, sir. I am as abstruse as they come, baby. Try to figure me out. Let's just see if you can triumph. When you finally figure me out, My face will have already changed.The scalpel will have already cut deep, darling. The bandages will come undone and I will once again be a great beauty. You will never recognize who I have become.